I Don't Know Why
by Yanagawa Hanako
Summary: Sequel to “He always Leaves” This is Youji’s P.O.V. on the whole situation, everyone who reviewed wanted a sequel, so here it is.


Title: I Don't Know Why.  
  
Genre: Yaoi, Angst  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Pairings: Youji x Omi  
  
Warnings: Yaoi, angst, and maybe a touch lime-ish (if you're prude that is)  
  
Summary: Sequel to "He always Leaves" This is Youji's P.O.V. on the whole situation, everyone who reviewed wanted a sequel, so here it is. (Don't worry, I didn't go bastared Youji or anything, I considered it, but I didn't)  
  
  
  
I don't know why.  
  
I don't know why I always leave him. I really do want to stay, but it can't be, it just can't. You don't think it doesn't tear my heart out every night when I get up and dress, painfully forcing myself not to look back. Back to that sweet innocent face, still flushed with passion, bruised and swollen lips parted breathing heavily and slightly erratically. Features twisted mildly with the dawning confusion and pain I know is coming. Coming because of me, because I'm a cold-hearted jerk, ouch that went a little far, I'm not cold hearted, just twisted, confused, too consumed it my own worries to fully grasp the feelings that are overwhelming me.  
  
He can't know why.  
  
Most people wouldn't see me as cold hearted, shallow, flirtatious, wanton, charming, sexual, yes, but never cold. I just can't deal with the realities of my true emotions, the one's that never reach the surface of my playboy exterior. The ones that dictate how I truly feel. What I feel for him goes beyond words, I can't define it, but I've always felt strongly for him, he'll never know. He probably thinks he's just my stress relief, just using him because I'm too busy to bother picking up women. That's not true, it could never be true, I would never do anything like that to him, he's too dear to me. I can never let him know the true extent of my feelings.  
  
You have to ask why?  
  
Oddly enough, it's the same reason I wrapped myself so deeply up in women. Denial. Bringing myself to deny something I've known secretly in my heart since I was maybe 15, but I've always denied it, always looked the other way. Always convinced myself it was just a phase, or I was just paranoid and imagining it all. And now it's all crashing down on me. Like an old stone wall, holding itself up though the worst of conditions and hardest trials, only to be felled by a child's stray baseball.  
  
And you never know why.  
  
I thought women would be a solution, maybe that womanizing would somehow take it out of me, cover it up, make it go away, and for a while it worked, at least outwardly. I flirted my way through scores of women, most of whose names escape me, many I never really learned. To the world I was just a joueur des femmes and that was the way I liked it, emphasis on was and liked. I did enjoy it, until that stupid little thing I thought I'd buried just had to come and rear it's ugly head, right into the middle of my spurious existence.  
  
I don't know why.  
  
He was the one who hauled it up. It's his entire fault for making me fall slowly and deeply until I became totally consumed. Consumed in his every glance, his every touch, his every kiss, his every moan, his every cry. I could be in love, but I'm afraid to even think the word, as if even considering that it might be that, the highest and most sacred of emotions, would jinx it some how. That admitting that I love HIM would completely shatter my delicately teetering façade, already in danger of tumbling. So to save my pride I walk away pretending that all we share is below the abyss of nothingness. Feigning as if he means less than naught to me, save a convenient amusement, or a pretty body and face to fuck into the sheets. I wish I could truly show him the ardor and the tenderness that I feel inside. The same affection that threatens to tear my heart from my chest every night as I abscond, go back to my room, conceal my face in my pillow, as if the walls would mock me for my tears, and cry. The bitter painful tears of knowing that every night I lose the chance at what I know could be the greatest happiness in both our lives. Because I'm a coward.  
  
A coward who doesn't know why.  
  
  
  
Well? Is it ok? There's gonna be a sequel you know. I hope, I'll probably have lost my muse by then tough. Those damn thing keep running off and taking vacations to Palm Beach right in the middle of all of my multi-part fics 


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